One of our cable receiver boxes gave up its ghost this weekend. No warning, it just blinked off into the great beyond. No amount of unplugging and re-plugging resuscitated it, requiring the dreaded call to “Customer Service.”

I have zero patience for AI customer service bots. They speak the same, impersonal language: “Tell me in a few words what your problem is,” or “Tell me why you’re calling us today.”

“It” is not a “me.” And never will be. It can project the confident baritone of James Earl Jones, form complete sentences, and have the entire Oxford English Dictionary loaded into its memory, but it’s still a charlatan in a hard drive.

This chatbot gave me a list of five options. I ignored all five and requested to speak to a real person, which wasn’t one of the five. We volleyed back and forth, but, eventually, my refusal to surrender must have shorted an overly sensitive circuit. It hung up on me, but not before sending a link to text-chat with a real customer service rep.

This was where the fun began. Customer service: Hello. My name is Dahlia. How may I assist you today?

Me: One of my receivers died. Dahlia: I am sorry to hear that. I will be happy to assist you. Let me load up your account and see what we have to work with.

Several seconds of bouncing dots. Dahlia: Okay, good. May I please have the serial number on the back of the cable box?

Me: Give me a minute. Dahlia: I will wait. Thank you so much. I grabbed a flashlight and a magnifying glass and got on the floor on my back to decipher the number which, when I struggled back to me feet, I sent to my new text buddy.

Dahlia: Okay. Thank you so much for the info. Just a moment, please.

More bouncing dots. Dahlia: I need you to disconnect the power cord to the receiver, wait 60 seconds, and then reconnect it.

Me: Already done that. Twice. Dahlia: Did any lights come on in the cable box? Here is where I began to practice what I know about relaxation and deep breathing.

Me: No. It’s dead. It’s kicked the bucket. Kaput. Dahlia: May I coach you through a series of activities with the receiver box and cables to see if that resolves your issue?

Me: Nope. I already coached myself. The same way I did when my last two receivers died.

Dahlia: Did you wait several seconds before reconnecting the cables back into the receiver and the power source into the wall?

I figured this was a great time for a few more deep breaths.

Me: Dahlia, I have a degree in mechanical engineering. (I don’t.) I’ve got a pretty good handle on all things mechanical.

Dahlia: Thank you. A few moments passed making me wonder if Dahlia was trying to access my college transcripts.

Dahlia: Thank you for your patience. I tried to send a signal to the box. It appears the box is not functional.

Relaxation breathing paired with a herculean effort to suppress my sarcasm.

Dahlia: Your cable box will need to be replaced. You will receive it within three to five business days. I will email instructions on how to install the new box.

Me: Thank you, Dahlia. You’ve been great. Dahlia: You’re welcome. Let us know if you need further assistance.

“Your conversation has ended.” What else has ended is the old world, friendly voice on the other end of the line. Replaced by argumentative AI bots and blinking cursors and text bubbles. We can grumble about it, and I do, but language and the way we do business changes daily. Our new language is populated with emojis and automated prompts.

If we think about it, we should appreciate these learning curves. It keeps us on our toes. Perhaps the best approach is a little patience and humor. Plus, some consideration that the person on the other end is probably trying to get through their day as well. It might not be the customer service of old, but kindness is a language that never goes extinct. Even through a keyboard.

— Doug Gray is a freelance writer and Elk Valley Times columnist from Fayetteville.